One of the men informally evaluating him was Jonathan Mercer, a respected lawyer at his firm who had clerked at the state supreme court years earlier.
Thomas wanted Jonathan impressed.
See more on the next page
Margaret wanted the holiday dinner flawless.
Somehow that meant I would do every bit of the work while smiling as if service were a gift.
I had been in the kitchen since 5:00 a.m. on Christmas Day.
The turkey, the cranberry sauce, the pies, the roasted vegetables, the bread rolls brushed with honey butter, the spiced apples, the gravy simmered from scratch—every single dish on that table came from my hands.
Margaret floated in and out in silk and pearls, rearranging place cards and criticizing how I folded napkins.
Thomas checked his reflection twice before the guests arrived.
No one once asked if I needed to sit.
By six that evening, my ankles looked like they belonged to someone else.
